


The Ghost of Halloween’s Lament - or: Draco is the wizard-Scrooge

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, British Slang, Feelings, Ghosts, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, M/M, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Podfic Welcome, Swearing, halloween is wizard christmas, war injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-01 22:04:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5222636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Halloween night - and all the castle is enjoying the festivities... Except Professor Draco Malfoy, Hogwart's Potion Master, a social outcast.<br/>Thankfully for all, he is getting a visitor tonight whether he wants one or not!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Past.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sullacat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sullacat/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I just wanted to apologise that this is a little bit late! Also, by the fact that it is un-beta-ed.  
> Hopefully you enjoy it, and it fits with what you were hoping for.

It was almost midnight and Draco was still tossing irritably in his bed. He was a little (quite a bit) drunk, and every few minutes he had to shift dramatically to try and abate the rising nausea from throwing back too many fire whiskies. Draco had barely been to the staff Halloween party that evening, but the disgruntled potions professor had loitered entirely near the drinks table: bemoaning the low quality of the alcohol, and snarling at anyone who tried to entice him into a good mood.

Draco did not enjoy socialising with his colleagues. He barely tolerated them, truth be told, and actively propagated an aura of unpleasantness hoping that they would leave him alone. It mostly worked, beyond the odd well-meaning hello or friendly word from an older professor who had been around since Draco was at school (and thus had no reason to be scared of him), Draco was left alone.

The general festivities though had spawned a particular sour taste in Draco’s mouth that evening however, which explained why he was now in bed, drunk and bitter.

“Bloody sycophants” he muttered to himself, “all too eager to fall over one another.”

He’d told himself that he wouldn’t get too intoxicated, but that had gone completely out the window when the golden-boy-come-teacher himself had struck up conversation:

“Good evening Draco.”

“Malfoy.” Draco had corrected, with a grimace.

“No-no, that’s your name. I’m Harry.” Potter was just tipsy enough that the words had a chortle-like character to them, his cheeks flushed and his eyes glistening. It was disgusting. The man was the embodiment of all things good and cheery.

“Mr. Potter. Is there a reason you are torturing me with your inanity.”

Potter had looked at him then, his head tilted to the side with earnest attention, his voice lowering into a breathy sincere quality.

“You’re more like him all the time.”

“Him?”

“You know, Draco… Severus.”

The words were like spear to the chest, Draco clutched at his cane - the residual consequences of a war wound - at the depravity of it.

“Don’t speak of him, you’ve no right!”

“I bloody well do! Wait - sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, any of it. Look, I’m a bit pissed right now, and this has come out all wrong, again… Some time next week, let’s get a drink - a non-alcoholic one if you want - we could talk some of these things out, finally… And maybe. Maybe some other stuff too?”

The memory of the conversation made Draco’s stomach churned with nausea all over again. The obscenity of it! Potter, obviously obfuscating his true intent in manipulating Draco, trying to write off old sins. It was insulting! Ridiculous! Draco had told Potter to ‘Piss Off’, grabbed the nearest bottle from the table, and stalked back to his room.

Draco was still tossing and muttering about the whole event when the clock began to chime, ringing out a notice of midnight falling upon the castle. It was when the twelfth chime had rung that he was finally interrupted.

“You always were an atrocious drinker Draco, I told your father that introducing you to whiskey over wine would be a bad idea.”

“Merlin’s-FUCKING-beard!”

“Don’t be so crass Draco, it’s ill-fitting.”

“I’ve been poisoned.”

“You mean you poisoned yourself with off-brand firewhiskey.”

“I’m never drinking again.”

“Good you’re taking my advice, although far too late.”

“I’m dying.”

“Don’t be melodramatic.”

“....Snape! I mean.. Severus! What… Are you really here?” Draco had finally pushed the bedding away from his face and stared at the translucent apparition that quite clearly took the shape of his former professor and godparent.

“Finally, your standard observation skills have at least returned.” The man replied, his character snark in place.

“But if you became a ghost, why has it taken you so long to manifest?”

“Ah, good, your logic and reasoning skills also appear to be functioning.”

“Have you.. Have you been avoiding me all this time?” Draco, although sobered by the calamity of his deceased teacher descending on him in his own chambers, was still intoxicated enough that the prospect of an earth-trawling Severus that didn’t want to seek him out was emotion inducing. So much so that Draco couldn’t help but feel his bottle lip wobble slightly.

Severus sighed, his eyes suddenly tired - managing to convey darkness while still utterly translucent - and his patience strained.

“I’m not a ghost Draco.”

“Oh?”

“Although I’m sharing their metaphyiscal properties right now… I’m only here tonight.”

“That’s, that’s specific… Can I ask how?”

“You can, but it’s not really worth answering. Why I’m here, however, I’ll begin showing you.”

The room instantly begun filling with a mist. It was frigid cold, and it quickly obscured every inch of Draco’s room, before suddenly finishing all together, and revealing a complete change of scenery.

Draco was standing in his family’s home. This would be strange no matter what, as Draco had not step foot in the place in years, but it uniquely shocking as this was not the neglected and war scarred house that stood in disrepair akin to how Draco had left it… But instead, the luxurious and richly dressed home of Draco’s childhood.

“Daddy! Daddy! Look what uncle Severus got me!”

A tiny blonde visage of himself slammed open the door to the study he was somehow standing in. Draco tried to jump out the way, but the miniature him didn’t appear to notice his presence, and just ran right through him in his pursuit.

“Let me guess,” came a sarcastic voice from behind the room’s partition, “another trinket for potions making.”

Lucius looked as regal as always, decadent blue rubes edged with silver wrapped around him, luminous white hair falling down his shoulders, and his mouth in a sneer of disgust over the idea of his son taking an interest in alchemy.

Six year old Draco appeared to have no qualms with his father’s distaste however, barrelling into the man, eliciting a disgruntled “Oogh!” and gripping at the taller wizard’s trouser leg.

“It’s a special flask that let’s me know if there’s poison in it!”

 Tiny Draco was pulling at the fabric, eager to gain some purchase and heave himself up into his father’s arms, but lacking the upper body strength to manage it.

The whole image was like a crucio to the gut. The sincere sweetness of the scene had stricken him, his small face filled with childhood admiration for his father, and the subdued benevolence mirrored back from the normally austere man was suddenly too much to take.

He spun around, determined to leave the room, but instead was face-to-face with the apparition Snape once again. The ghostly face was staring sadly at the scene that Draco had just deemed too painful to endure.

“Why am I here? What is this?”

“I must confess, an accident.”

“What do you mean?”

“This… Visitation. It’s new to me. I had intended to show you a version of your younger self… When you were less afflicted, unfortunately, this memory was too strong a draw…”

Through the ghost-Snape Draco could now see the corporal version of the man, in flesh colours, standing at the door to the room, the man’s face showing a more tender and happy version of the look he had just seen coming from the post mortem face.

Draco at this point realised that the sounds of the room had muted, but the scenes were still playing out. The temptation to turn round and see his former self be indulged and petted by his father licked at his heels.

“I… I don’t want to see this anymore…”

“As you wish.”

The surroundings changed, and they were now in Diagon Alley. They were walking behind himself and his father again, this time Lucius was lecturing him on the way to behave at school. Draco - probably about 11 years old now- although ever-respectful to his father, could not help but allow his eyes to repeatedly flicker to the broom shop just to the left of the pair.

“Is this supposed to be telling me something?” Draco snapped, still raw from the earlier memory he’d been forced to witness, and acutely uncomfortable with seeing his father and - worse - a younger version of himself looking at the man with adoration.

“I wanted to show you a time where you were not jaded to things. When you were open to new experiences.”

“Not being jaded didn’t do me much good Severus. I was open to listening to that man, so I was clearly an idiot.”

“This is not going how I expected… Come, let’s see one of your little friends.”

Ghost-Snape blew some air onto a nearby window, an odd action for an apparition that was known to be cold, but it produced the steamy precipitation all the same. In the middle of the steam Draco could see a small boy peeping out of a cupboard. This was bizarre enough in itself, but as the image took on a more photograph quality (moving, of course), a rotund man had slapped the boy across the face, causing the small figure to fall back inside.

“What was that!?” Draco snapped, looking at Snape.

“I think you know who that was really Draco.”

“Yes, I get it, it was Potter. But why did you show me it? Some strained attempt to make me forgive him for being an annoying git?”

“No, I’m just adding a little context. See here as well.”

The next steam-picture, made in another pane of glass, showed Harry being taunted for his magical outbursts. (Growing his hair, jumping high, vanishing glass). The third was Harry being denied his letters. And finally it was him sitting in a boat with the half-giant grounds keeper, Hagrid.

It was an enlightening little series of pictures, a few of which Draco wished he had had access to when he was younger as they’d be fantastic blackmail fodder, but on the whole, it didn’t really make sense.

“Severus, look… This stuff is, ridiculous. What do you want from me? Suddenly overwhelmed with pity that I let him treat me like a bloody doorstop? And why? You hated the prat.”

“I’m not trying to make you pity him Draco.” Severus was sighing, which was a little unnerving, as he normally only saved emotion for private moments, although, the busy Diagon Ally street was populated by people that didn’t seem to see them anyway, so it probably was quite a private moment.

“Severus, come on, let’s… Let’s just talk. I’ve missed you.” Draco’s throat had a lump in it, the alcohol, lack of sleep, and the bitter whiplash of the memory of his 6 year old adoration of his father a bit too much for him.

“Not - not yet Draco. Just pay attention, ok? Come along, let’s visit your robe fitting for Hogwarts.”

Draco had forgotten about the specky child he’d shared the room with that time. In hindsight, it made sense that it was Potter, but this stolen moment always seemed so inconsequential… He had definitely forgotten about his slander about Hagrid. Now that he could revisit the moment, it was obvious that Potter had been rather perturbed about Draco’s gossip.  
“Right. I get it now. It’s all my fault. I upset Potter by insulting his pet giant, and the rest is all my fault. Fucking perfect. Potter’s an angel, even my fucking godfather thinks so. Right, I’m going home, or, waking up, or whatever else this stupid pissing mirage is-”

And like that Draco jumped up in his bed, his body freezing with cold sweat and his heart racing. His eyes darted around the room, just to confirm that he was truly in his own bed, before falling on the clock: five minutes till midnight.


	2. The Present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is still un-beta-ed.

“Fuck, it was a dream.”

The blonde took some deep breaths in, the frigid night air curling uncomfortably with his alcohol filled belly.

“That was not a good dream.”

The images of his father’s study, his own childhood delight, threatened to take over him, so he hopped out of bed in an attempt to push the images out his head.

Draco paced the room a few times.

“Ok, ok… This is proof then, I should probably cut back on the drinking. Fuck, I bet someone spiked the drinks, how stupid I am, of course the plebeian fools would do something so ridiculous. I’ve probably melted my insides due to their attempts to get high. Ughed!”

The clock had begun ringing out midnight, and the blaring chimes were playing havoc with his head. Draco made some quick steps to his en suite bathroom, quickly pulling open the door before emitting a loud - and surprisingly high pitched - scream.

“Really Draco, we just went through this.”

“Maybe I am dead.”

“No, really not. Although you’re right about your idiotic failure to check for poisons, did I teach you nothing all those years?”

Draco was still reasonably freaked out, but the usual snarks in their relationship still fell into place, “Well, you always said idiocy couldn’t be cured. What are you doing in my bathroom!?”

“The first attempt didn’t go as planned, I underestimated you lack of empathy.”

“What now? My first Quidditch match? Going to show Potter hoping to pat me on the back after the game, only to be foiled by my callousness?”

“Draco, stop being so droll… I thought something a little more current would help you. Maybe if we focussed on the times where you did get in touch with empathy.”

Draco was about to snarl back, it was ridiculous, this fascination Severus (or merlin’s beard, he hoped not his subconscious) had with redeeming him, but then suddenly they were in another living room.

It was a family scene, a tiny two year old trying to tug a fluttering toy bat out of her brother’s hand, both children with shock-black hair. Bone straight and fine.

“Mama! Mama! She’s trying to take it.” Bawled the older sibling.

“Shh shh shh.” Intervened the mother, her hair as equally fine, but a mousy brown instead. “Arabella, don’t snatch. Look at these little spider booties mama got you.” The little girl let go of the toy with glee - which suddenly took flight into the air, the enchantment slightly battered, so that it faulted to the left - and trying to stuff her little hands into the shoes her mother was dancing in front of her face.

“It’s broken.” Cried the boy, his face crushed.

“Really Artie? And here I thought you were a wizard.”

The boy shot his father a toothy grin (which revealed some missing milk teeth)

“Do I get to help?”

“You bet!”

Draco had only seen the children before in photograph form, and they had both been much smaller. The girl, Arabella, had just been born, and Artemis hadn’t even turned three yet. They both looked like people now, even though it’d been over two years since the photo alone.

“They look… They look happy.”

Severus placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder, it wasn’t cold like a regularly ghost, but it was missing the same weight as a flesh - live - person would give. Draco felt himself yearning for that weight to ground him.

“Why don’t you go visit them Draco? You can’t tell me you don’t want to.”

The mother was grinning at her husband now, supplying recommendations in the magic lesson he was giving the family.

“It’s for the best we don’t keep in contact, the courts would be suspicious.”

“Perhaps… Probably after the first few years after the war… Maybe even after to five. But not now Draco.”

It was tempting, seeing them like this for Draco, the family that he so almost had.  
“No, they - they deserve to be happy. I need them to be happy. I can’t ruin it for them.”

“But you wouldn’t be ruining it for them Draco! You gave them this! When you took on their crimes so their names would be free, you gave them this!”

“Pansy… She… She never really did anything. And Nott was always just at the wrong place at the wrong time. They didn’t deserve what would happen to them.”

Draco eyes were wet, and he swivelled them to face the long-past professor.

“Thank you for showing me this. But I won’t change my mind. They are better off without me.”

“You don’t deserve to be alone Draco. That’s why I’m here, you know that.”

“I won’t be a burden to them…”

“Fine!” Snape said with a sharply, anger bleeding through, “Let’s visit your father then.”

“No!” Draco snapped, but it was too late, he was already standing in a cold dank cell. Alone with no one but a white haired wizard sitting at a desk.

“Snape you bastard! Take me back! Get me out! You fucker!”

His eyes cast around to look at anything but the middle aged man, sat surprisingly regally in his mangey prison garb.

“I’ll fire call them! I’ll send them some sodding chocolate! Alright! Just, get me out of here!”

“Malfoy. Your letter’s been returned.”

Draco froze still and turned to face the guard - since the war, dementors had been removed from the prison - but he hadn’t expected the guard to speak to him. A second later, the moment was broken, as his father stood so as to approach the bars.

“Ah, thank you Mr Dentan.”

With dread, Draco realised what he was seeing. This was the ritual that his father must go through every month. The return of the rejected letter he had sent to his son.

With a skill born of practice, the Malfoy patriarch pulled open the bottom draw of his desk and filed away the rejected letter, tucked beneath countless other sealed envelopes, before opening the middle draw to fetch a new piece of parchment and quill.

Draco had seen his father write thousands of letters throughout his life, the method was always the same: return address, date, title of the recipient… “I am writing to you concerning…”  
The cell was deathly quiet saved for the methodical scratchings of a quill, Lucius was always economical with his movements, restrained so as to add definition to his decisive actions. After 10 minutes of nothing happening, Draco began to pace again, muttering at the back of his father’s head.

“I bet you expect me to pity you. Alone in here. Writing me sodding letters just to get them returned. Well… Fat chance. I’m not reading them for a reason, you self important dick. You self obsessed twat. You fumbling, egotistical COWARD.” Draco was shouting now. “LISTEN TO ME. YOU… YOU MONSTER. YOU FUCKING SHAMBLES OF A MAN. LOOK AT YOU. YOU’RE A DISGRACE. YOU’RE A FUCKING DISGRACE… All - all you taught me, all those things you said to me. They were all a fucking lie. You wasted it all on him. You wasted US. LOOK AT ME YOU COWARD!”

“Don’t shout Draco, he can’t hear you.”

Draco spun on his foot, his eyes blurred with tears.

“You’re no better.”

“I know.”

“I’m being serious here. You, lied, all those years. To him, to my mother… To… To me..”

“I know I did.”

“Why couldn’t you have told us? Told me? Earlier. Given us a chance to get out of it.”

“It would have compromised everything.”

“It would have saved us.”

“At the cost of too much.”

“...I know. We weren’t worth it.” Draco cast a glance at his father, still doggedly writing a letter to a son that would never read it, “I wasn’t worth it to either of you… Too invested in your plans. In your saviours…”

“Draco.. I-”

“Let me leave here, I’m tired, take me back to my rooms…”

“You’re right. I think it’s best we leave.”

Draco’s eyes were closed, but he felt subtle warmth return to his bones that had been absent since he appeared in the cell. When he opened them however, he was not in his rooms, instead, it appeared to be he was in the headmaster’s office at Hogwarts.  
“Severus, why am I here?”

“I just want you to see one more thing.”

“I really am tired.”

“I know, it should be any minute now, but feel free to lie down on the headmaster’s sofa.”

Draco padded over to the soft looking seating arrangement, it was more of a glorified armchair than a suite, but it had enough woollen blankets thrown over it that it looked welcoming. Draco couldn’t decide if it was a feature introduced by the crackpot Dumbledore and his eclectic nonsense, or it was a hidden relic of the Scottish old bat, that had a secret soft side. He’d never thought to ask before now. The blonde had settled himself within the blankets, his eyes barely open, when a man slipped through the door of the office.

He was average height, not much taller than Draco himself, but definitely broader, and as he moved out of the shadows (his footsteps a little wonky, and he knocked into a few things on his way) the man’s messy black hair, and character glasses came into view.

“Of course it’d be you…” mumbled Draco, wholly unimpressed, but too tired to work up a diatribe against the man.

Like all other people from the visits, Harry Potter did not appear to hear him, and instead carried on his journey to the portrait of the late headmaster.

“Er, hello again.” He whispered at the sleeping portrait. “Just, just wanted to drop by. Tell you what’s been going on. The Halloween party was a success, definitely a bigger turnout than last year. Probably helped that we managed to bar Peeves from the room this time. A lot dryer this year too thanks to that.” Draco briefly remember the surprise thunderstorms that had plagued last year’s party, cracking a small grin at the image of all the guests running back to their own rooms sodden and wet.

“Hermione and Ron couldn’t make it. Not that I, er, blame them or anything. Must be nightmare, with the little one, and them both working full time. Would have been nice to see them of course. Oh, er, Hermione says hello. You’know, alongside telling me I should stop coming up here.”

Draco had been dozy, listening to the looping lilt of the man’s voice, but at this he cracked an eye open.

“I know I should stop coming up here. I know I should go make some friends, or, try talk about it to someone else. But… None of them get it. None of them really knew what happened… None of them... “ Draco was beginning to worry Harry was crying, “If you could just wake up. Just for a bit. Just for once. That’d be… I just, I just need to know that someone remembers what really happened… Oh merlin, shit, I said I wouldn’t come up here and cry. It’s all the firewhiskey. Alright, anyway, big things have been happening in Quidditch recently. The Holly Head Harpies switched out their keeper at the last minute before their game against…-”

It was with a heavy head filled with words and images that Draco drifted off to sleep.


	3. The Future.

When Draco woke again he felt rested. His sickness had finally left him, and the crushing headache he’d been ignoring all day had finally abated. This was somewhat perturbing in itself, as he glanced at the clock which once again said that it was 5 minutes to midnight. With a sigh, he called out: “Severus, are you there?”

There was no response, but Draco waited patiently until the clock began to chime out midnight.

“I’m glad you caught on, I could do without the dramatics.”

“Why are you here Severus?”

“You know why I’m here Draco.”

“No, I don’t. I know that you’re bent on trying to get me to learn some kind of message.. Or, do something different, but I don’t know why you’re here.”

The old potions master stared at his prior pupil, his mouth pulled into a tight frown, before finally walking over to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I’m not actually here for you.”

"Oh? Well, that's encouraging."

"This visit, it was a gift to me from someone."

"And what, you thought it was best spent messing around with my head?"

"You were right. In that cell, you were right. I should never have sacrificed your happiness-"

Draco could feel the professor's words like stinging hexes to the chest.

"-There are many things I am not proud of that I did when I am alive. Many things I would do differently. But, you... You I could have done something for. If I tried harder. If I wasn't so wrapped in my own grief and misery, I could have helped you."

"Why didn't you?" Draco said in a small voice. His heart was racing in his throat, as his brain throbbed with the potentiality of finally having a conversation he had had thousands of times in his mind.

"I was selfish. Or maybe, maybe I was just blind. I allowed my emptiness define me. I shunned every chance of happiness I could have because I felt like I had already squandered my chance..."

"Is this supposed to be the lesson you're teaching me?"

"Don't become me Draco. Don't be miserable, don't lose yourself. But most importantly, don't think of me highly enough to emulate me. I was a bastard, a fool for not protecting you... I - I don't deserve your respect."

“I… I can’t lose you too Severus. I already lost my father, all that he was… I need you to stand for something…”

“To waste yourself on the dead is a travesty Draco, there are so many living and waiting for you, the dead are at peace, let yourself be at peace with them too.”

“Have you seen my mother?”

Severus’ mouth twitched gently into a smile. “Death is not something one can easily explain to the living, one day you too will understand it, although hopefully not for many-many years yet, but yes, I have seen your mother.”

“Is she happy?”

“She is at peace. She lived her life to the fullest.”

“Is… Is he there?”

“..Surely you do not mean..?”

“I just, I just need to know.”

“The dark lord is not there… ..But, but who he really is, the man Tom Riddle, is there.”

“Ok… Good.”

“Why Draco?”

“If he’s there, then he’s not coming back.”

They both sat in silence for a few minutes, Severus’ weightless arm stroking the pajama clad arm of his godson, until Draco broke the silence again.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I know.”  
“Why did you get to come back?”

“Because everyone gets to be at peace once they go, but I could not be so while knowing that you would live your life like I had.”

“I can’t just fix that. These people, they… They don’t understand. They're disgustingly stupid. No, don’t look at me like that, you know what I mean. It’s not their fault, and I get that, but, how am I supposed to connect with them.”

“And the Notts? Pansy, Theodore and their children?”

“....Yes.. Yes, I suppose. Ok, yes, for you, for you I will see them. But don’t you dare say my father. I cannot do that even for you.”

“I knew that you could only do that for yourself.”

“Ok… How long can you stay?”

“Not a moment longer.”

“What! No! Please, just, just one more time, I’ll sleep, I’ll wake up, we’ll talk again.”

“I only had three chances. And my time is almost up.”

“So you’re going, just like that.”

“Yes, but I have one more place to show you. And I need you to understand something. What you see, it _is_ your future. You can have it. It’s yours. All you need to do it take it, you understand?”

“No! I don’t, just stay and explain it to me! Please, Severus, please!”

“You can do this… I love you Draco, just remember, you deserve this.”

The room went white with mist again, and when it faded he was no longer accompanied by his godfather.

He looked around at the room, it was obnoxiously decorated with red and gold drapings, and appeared to have clutter on nearly every surface: china trinkets, old copies of the daily prophet, broom twig clippers, countless buttons of every colour and size strewn across a coffee table, a clock that had been taken apart into all its separate internal pieces, and at least seven dozen chocolate frog cards. A movement in the corner caught his eye, and to his surprise he saw himself sitting in an armchair, wearing the most vulgar Gryffindor house dressing gown imaginable.

“Great, I go insane. That’s what I can look forward to.” He said to himself, trying to take in the sight. The apparent future-Draco looked almost identical to himself now, with no visible signs of ageing. Future Draco was reading the Daily Prophet, but when he tried to grimpse the date, the man breathed out a deep sigh, closing the paper and reclining back in the seat with a small smile on his face.

“Everything okay babe?” came a voice from the adjacent kitchenette. To Draco’s absolute surprise, in walked Harry Fucking Potter, wearing a Slytherin Quidditch shirt no less!

“Well, there was a fire in a potions supplies factory in Ipswich, which was one of the main cultivators of red Newt Eye powder, so stocks are going to cost through the roof.”

"That's annoying."

"Mmhmm, I should probably re-write some of my lesson plans, so as to not strain my pupil's families"

Draco couldn't believe his eyes, first, the absolute joke that was himself and HARRY FUCKING POTTER having a civil morning conversation in their sleep clothes, but then, even worst: the GALL of the situation that was Potter plonking himself down the arm of Draco's chair, and offered him some of his toast.

"No thanks."

"You sure? It's the strawberry and rhubarb jam you like."

Future-Draco smiled at the boy, before casually - and it was the casualness that truly stopped current-Draco's heart still - reached up to press a kiss onto the brunette's lips.

"Mmmh, gorgeous."

"Me or the jam?" Potter said with a laugh.

"Definitely the jam. But, you're alright yourself."

"Charming." Harry huffed, swiping another kiss from future-Draco, before sauntering back to the kitchenette.

"Coffee or tea?"

"Do we have plans for today?"

"Not really, if you really want, we can get back into bed."

"What, spend the day shagging like we used to."

"Yeah, or, I'dunno, do the crossword and maybe I'll wank you off."

"Sounds sublime. Tea then, make it a pot."

Harry's laughter bubbled over at that, a genuine and fond chortle that rung out the room. Current-Draco rubbed his eyes, but when he opened them again he was back in his own room.

He instantly glanced at the clock, but this time it was 7am, not midnight.

 

"What the fuck was that!?" Draco shouted at no one.

"Ok, Draco, let's ask yourself... What is more likely... You just had a major - and fucked up - hallucination all night... Or that your dead godfather just took you a trip down memory lane before suggesting that any minute now you're gonna' get hitched with Potter. POTTER."

Draco could have possibly believed the whole thing happened if it wasn't for the final trip. Everything was reasonable. Most of it had happened.. Or could be happening.. But, but that last one...

A cold feeling filled Draco. If that last scene wasn't true, none of it was. None of the things Severus had said, had promised.

No... It was all just a fantasy.

Draco sighed, his heart rang with sadness, and he suddenly mourned the loss of his godfather all over again, the grief and misery hitting him all at once. This time amplified by the sharp pain that was a memory of his father, and the loss of the console that his mother was at peace.

"Pull yourself together." He bit out, forcing himself out of bed, and shoving his hands into his pockets...

 

...There was something cold and round curled up in the corner of one of his pockets however.

Tentatively he pulled at the chain, and drew out a small glass vial, etched with a delicate message, "So you always know what is happening. SS."

 

It was enough.

 

Enough at least for him to take a chance.

Draco jumped into his slippers, and ran to the door of his chambers, only pausing to grab his cane on the way out. His rooms were situated close enough to the exit of the dungeons that it was within minutes that he was clambering up the great staircase. 

He didn't let himself over think his actions, certain that if he thought about it too wholly that he'd bottle it. Lose the little hope he had.

Draco ran as fast as he could, hindered only by his reliance on the cane he'd been cursed with since the war. But as the pain seeped up his leg, he used it as motivation: focus on the pain, don't think about it, just do it. Just, believe it was true.

When he got there he knocked, rampantly, on the door. Worried that if it wasn’t answered straight away, it’d be the moment’s downfall. Thankfully after what was probably less than a minute (but felt like over an hour) the door swung open, revealing a rather sleep rumpled Potter. The likeness to vision Draco had just had (sans the Slytherin Quidditch jersey, unfortunately) was almost enough for Draco to lose his voice completely.

“Draco - er, I mean - Malfoy. Is everything… okay?”

“I changed my mind.” Draco bit out.

“Oh, ok, about what?”

“About a drink. Non-alcoholic. Preferably tea."

"You want to go for a drink with me."

"Do you like tea Potter?"

"Yeah sure, wow. Why so early? Did you want to go now?"

"Wait. Just, answer the question, do you like tea? And urm... Crosswords?"

Harry looked at him blankly for moment, as if he was trying to suss out whether this was a trick, finally however, he gave in.

"Um, well, I actually love tea. And, yeah, I like to do the crosswords. Not very good at them though, normally just give them a go in bed, and then I've probably given up by the time the pot's empty" he said with an affable smile.

Draco could kiss him.

He didn't though.

"Alright, good. Good to know. We'll get tea."

Not yet anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DONE.  
> I hope you like it!  
> I'll try and come back to beta it some time soon.  
> I also have a mini-epilogue I might add. (:


	4. Epilogue.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue I promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta-ed as before.  
> This little fic truly has run away from me & I'm utterly enamored by it myself.  
> The urge to write more in this universe is very strong.  
> I hope the epilogue is what you wanted.

Draco had been under the assumption that it would happen on Halloween. That the following year he’d find himself in Potter’s rooms, with tea and cross words, and a Gryffindor dressing gown. Instead it only took about five months for them to reach domestic harmony.

It was different viewing the moment from the inside. When Draco had first begun to spend time inside Potter’s rooms, the man had made an effort to keep the place somewhat organised. There had always been significant clutter, but the unkempt man at least tried to hide it away in closets and bookcases. A few months in however, and the ruse was up. Potter was a hoarder, and a spreader.

Draco didn’t really mind, at times he encouraged it, due to the first part of their hesitant attempts at a relationship constituting horrific arguments that rarely ended in something delightful like sex (romance books had lied to Draco on that front: there’s no way quicker to get locked out someone’s underwear than to make them furious at you. Fight sex was a myth, and make up sex normally entailed grovelling long before it meant getting off) and thus most arguements ended with one of them storming out, spitting curses to never return. Whenever it was Draco’s turn to return with his tail between his legs (and if he was being honest with himself, it was mostly him who did the storming out), he often bore gifts. Trinkets to more precise. Anything that fell into the wide bracket of ‘kitsch’ Potter loved, and there was nothing more perfect for Draco than showing up with a gaudy looking china swan with pale blue wings which somehow coaxed a smile onto the dark-haired man’s face.

Thus it was some surprise that he watched Potter sashay back into the kitchenette, only to be gripped by the déjà vu that this was in fact their moment. That the buttons on the counter was from two weeks ago when Potter had decided he wanted to learn sewing spells, and the chocolate frog cards were from Harry has surprised him with the missing characters from his own collection only a few days into their courting. The vision that at the time had felt so foreign to him, now appeared to be something he not only owned, but created.

Draco let his eyes cast about, hopeful he could catch some last minute sight of his past self.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, “you really do get to have this.”

“What’s that babe?” Harry shouts back to him.

“Nothing… Well, actually… Remember I told you about that dream I had about Severus…”

\-----

 

By Halloween proper therefore Draco had little reason to expect something from the previous year to revisit him. Sure, he stayed up until midnight, him and Potter holding hands under the duvet, laughing at the idea of Severus catching them in bed together--

(“Potter, I told you, he’s the one who set us up!” “Look, I respect the man, for his bravery and his abilities… But I know he wasn’t interested in playing match-maker for me!” “Not everything is about you though, you self absorbed twat.” “Do you think he’d still come if I was giving you a blow job?” “Fuck… Maybe. Let’s at least wait until 10 past midnight, just in case he wouldn’t.”)

\--but he wasn’t really disappointed when there was no visit. It was to be expected. What he did find, however, was the most recent letter from his father, curiously laying beside him on the bedside table.

He knew what Severus was getting at.

The git.

“You can still send it back like normal.” Harry encouraged, dolloping three sugars in his teacup.

“I know… But the thing is, I’ve been thinking about opening them.”

“Oh!” Harry jumped, failing horridly at hiding his enthusiasm over idea, and sloshing tea over the open copy of the Quibbler the man had in his lap, “Well! That’s totally fine as well! You can do that!”

Draco knew that Harry had an inherent curiosity to him, and even though he had always left such things in Draco’s court, the concept of never opening the letters was utterly foreign to him.

“I know I could. But, if I open them, he wouldn’t receive them back.”

“You don’t want him to know you’ve read them?”

“Actually. The opposite. Look, I hate him. At one point, the only thing I liked about you was the fact that I knew you also hated him."

"Very romantic."

"Indeed. Anyway, I don’t think he deserves to write to me. And he definitely doesn’t deserve to hear from me… But… Writing these letters to me is all he’s got now. Once a month he writes a letter, and once a month it gets returned to him. If… I read it, but didn’t write anything back… He might worry I’m just throwing them out. He won’t know I’m reading them. He’ll just… Be sitting in that cell with no one to talk to.”

There was a sad kind of silence in the bedroom. Draco blushing slightly from a mixture of emotion and embarrassment. Harry, in a move that Draco knew he’d learnt from Granger, took a deep breath and squeezed his arm.

“It’s pathetic really. I should just send it back.” Draco grouched.

“If you wanted - and only if you wanted - I could write one. Saying that you had read it, but that you…. That you didn’t want to respond.”

Draco felt like he’d been punched, viscerally, with emotion.

“You’d- you would do that for me?”

“I do a lot more than write a letter for you.”

“But you hate him.”

“Yeah, but I love you.”

They had only mumbled the words to each other a few times before then, and although trembling slightly with emotion, Draco couldn’t help but grin.

“That’s… That’s great.”

“What is?”

“All of it. You, writing the letter. But also, you, loving me. It’s great.”

They shared another kiss, before Potter left him in bed with a promise of another pot of tea and some crumpets.

“Read it in your own time.” Harry urged as he left.

With a deep breath, Draco steeled himself, before slipping the letter over and breaking the seal.

_“Dear Draco, happy halloween…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I were to magically make room for _more_ epilogue..  
>  Or perhaps even a sequel, would anyone be up for that?  
> Literally, if I know I have readers, I'd probably write it.


End file.
